


I Wanna Be Yours

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Kinktober Criminal Minds [23]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Aaron Hotchner, Bisexual Male Character, Biting, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Day 27, Day 27 Kinktober, Day 27 Kinktober 2020, Day Twenty-Seven, Day Twenty-Seven Kinktober, Day Twenty-Seven Kinktober 2020, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hand Jobs, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Love Bites, M/M, Marking, One Shot, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, References to Arctic Monkeys, Romance, Short One Shot, Smut, Song Lyrics, Song: I Wanna Be Yours (Arctic Monkeys), Sub Aaron Hotchner, bisexual reader, dom reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: Hotch has always managed to keep a handle on his control…until you came along. Now what Hotch really wants is you, but more than that, he wants to be yours.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You
Series: Kinktober Criminal Minds [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946794
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	I Wanna Be Yours

_“Secrets I have held in my heart_

_Are harder to hide than I thought_

_Maybe I just wanna be yours,”_

\- “I Wanna Be Yours,” _Arctic Monkeys_

* * *

Hotch has heard what his coworkers have said about him. Uptight. And he wouldn’t bother arguing that they were wrong because they weren’t. He was uptight, but that was just how he was.

Of course, being a profiler, he knew exactly why he was like this. A profiler like Reid might say that those tight clothes and cinched shirt collars would be like simulating the same tightness of the womb or some such thing, but Hotch just knew that he preferred his suits and ties because of the protection they offered. His suits made it to where the only skin he had showing was from the wrists down and the neck up, like a modern knight in armor, layers and layers separating himself from the world. It was how he maintained his composure, how he could file away different parts of himself so that he wouldn’t break down. Hotch had to be strong for everyone who was counting on him, and he couldn’t afford any weakness.

But then, you changed things. Much like with Prentiss’ start at the BAU, Hotch was strong-armed into hiring you by Strauss, who was impressed with your record at the CIA. At first, you seemed to fit in well, and Hotch did his best to not let his negative feelings for Strauss affect how he worked with you. The longer you stayed, though, the more and more Hotch felt unsure about you.

There was something different about you. You had an unusual kind of effect on him. For one, he felt like he could just relax around you as if he were melting out from under his suit and tie. This usually happened in the quieter moments, the jet mainly in that time where its late at night and early in the morning and the team is catching their first sleep since the unsub is caught. You usually never sleep, at least no deeper than a doze, and Hotch usually found himself fighting sleep for a chance to get a look at you from eyes half-closed. Somehow, you always sat across or next to him in those situations, too, and Hotch has found himself waking up for the landing with his head pillowed on your shoulder. And you never said anything about it, not even a tease, but you would smile at him gently and Hotch would know that you weren’t bothered.

That’s usually when he felt safest, but he just wrote it off as post-case adrenaline drop. Obviously, he was lying to himself, but those lies were the easiest to believe. It was your other effect on him that was so much harder to ignore.

It happened when the team would go out drinking. Rarely did Hotch ever let himself indulge in those trips, mostly out of the guilt that he should be doing something productive like paperwork, house chores, or spending time with Jack. Since you joined the BAU, though, you had managed to convince him to tag along more frequently. You would just come up to his office – you always managed to convince him when it was just the two of you – and you would pin him with a look that he just couldn’t quite read yet. At first you would just ask, “Hey, Garcia wants to show us this new karaoke bar and 62nd street. Are you coming?”

Hotch would duck his head because he just couldn’t hold your gaze and he’d reach for the paperwork that was always there, but then your hand would stop his with just a touch. One of the few places where his skin was bare and you’d just barely brush your fingertips over his knuckles and he’d loosen his grip immediately. Without any prompting, his eyes would find yours again, and this time there was no asking. “Leave that paperwork for tomorrow and take this time for yourself. Come out with us.”

And he always did. But just once he would wish that you’d say, “Come out with me,” instead of “us.”

* * *

It was on one of these trips out to a bar that something changed between you two. It was the odd Friday night were there was no need to go into the office tomorrow and Jack was on a sleep-away camping trip for school. Hotch allowed himself to drink more than just a beer because he knew that he’d be going back to an empty apartment, and instead of loosening up like he’d hope, he found himself tense.

He blamed you, you who still wore the same blazer from work and popped open the first few buttons where a generous amount of your chest was on display, gleaming with sweat from when you went out on the dance floor with Garcia and Morgan. This was a newer bar, a younger crowd than what Hotch was comfortable with, more like a club than a bar since they used UV light which eerily reminded Hotch of crime scenes. But the white-button up you were wearing glowed and Hotch couldn’t drag his eyes away even if he tried.

Which was how you caught him staring, and instead of going back to your dancing, you stalked right up to him. Hotch shrunk back only slightly before you caught his free hand and started dragging him away into the crowd. He didn’t even have the capacity to think about what the others would say because all he could think about was how well your hands fit together, how you had that look in your eye again, how you made him lose his breath without ever having to say a word.

You pulled all the way to the back hallway that led to the restrooms and the emergency exit. There the lights were still dim, but thankfully free of any UV lights. Out of range of the speakers, the music had dulled to just a pulse of bass that Hotch would feel at the back of his head, buzzing around his eardrums. You didn’t shove so much as you pinned him to the wall next to the men’s room, and Hotch barely had a chance to gasp before your mouth was covering his.

Just like that he was melting again, feeling all strung out between the wall at his back and you. His feet started to slide, not enough traction between his shoes and the beer-slickened floor to keep him steady on his feet, but you just took advantage of that, stepping between his legs and nudging them further apart with your knee. But you did not give him the friction he needed, keeping just far enough back that if Hotch wanted to grind his hard cock against you, he’d need to buck his hips. And he couldn’t make himself do that yet, it would be too embarrassing and obvious and he’d be so weak for it –

When you pulled back from the kiss, you just slotted your lips again his jaw. With every nip against his skin it was like you were diligently chipping away at his armor, stripping him bare without ever laying a hand on his suit yet. Your hands instead had managed to hold his wrists in one hand against the wall above his head while the other was wrapped up high around his throat, just holding him in place, no pressure yet. Every touch of you against his skin was over sensitized, hyper aware, lit on fire. That precious control was falling away fast and it half-excited, half-scared Hotch, but it was too hard to think about it.

“I know what you need,” your voice was low in his ear, yet just loud enough to be heard above the music. “I know what you want. You want me, and I want you, too. But you need to just let go, Aaron.”

He whimpered at the use of his given name. “Please…” Immediately, he bit his lip, hating himself for his weakness, for his lack of control. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, partly in self-loathing and partly because of how good your mouth felt suckling at his earlobe, huffing in his ear.

“Please what, Aaron?” You didn’t sound teasing, quite the opposite. “Use your words like a big boy. I know you can.”

“Please…touch me?” He said the first thing that came to mind, the thing that he wanted but had never allowed himself to have. Hotch had never done anything like this before, but God, did it feel so good to have even a taste of it now.

“Good boy,” you murmured in his ear, and then with his permission, your hands were on him. You loosened the tie around his neck until you could peel down the collar of his shirt. With the new skin bared, your lips sought it out, sucking marks into his neck. You bit him particular hard as if you were a vampire drawing blood, and the pain went straight to his cock.

Distantly, the rational part of Hotch was thankful that you were taking precautions to not mark him where anyone could see because he wasn’t ready yet to let the others know about this. But in that moment, all Hotch could do was whine and feel the hot flush of embarrassment that he _wanted_ your marks to be visible. He _wanted_ everyone to know that he belonged to someone – to you.

“Where are you, Aaron?” Your voice dragged him out of his head again, and he met your gaze, his own pupils blown wide with lust. “There you are.” You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, and though he valiantly tried to turn his head and catch your kiss on his mouth, he was a little too out of it. “I must not be doing a good enough job if you’re still thinking.”

“No,” Hotch uttered with what little breath he had. His chest rose and fell rapidly. “No, it’s just… I want more.”

A slow smile stretched across your lips. Your hands started unbuckling his belt. “Ask me for it, Aaron. I’m not a mind-reader.”

“I…I want you to touch me.” Hotch’s tongue wetted his lips, mouth dry from nerves. “I want you to mark me, bite me, make me yours.”

“Mine?” You repeated, voice husky. Your clever fingers started unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks.

“Yes, yours,” Hotch affirmed. His hands hung down by his sides uselessly, a tremble starting up. He tried to self-soothe away the tremble in his fingers with his thumb, rubbing back and forth. Really, he wanted to touch you instead, but you hadn’t given him permission yet. Hotch didn’t want to mess any of this up.

“You know,” you started as your hands peeled back his slacks and pushed instead his boxers. When your hand wrapped around his cock with a firm grip, he jolted and gasped, which only served to make you smile at him, pleased. “If you’re mine, you must do what I say. No one else can have you.” You drew his cock free from the confines of his pants and slowly started pumping a confident hand up and down his shaft, squeezing him tightly. “You’ll be mine, and I’ll take care of you. You want that?”

“Oh, yes,” Hotch moaned, dropping his head back against the unforgiving wall. He barely noticed the pain, all the blood in his head rushing down, down, down. His palms pressed back against the wall, the rough texture of the black painted bricks pricking at his skin uncomfortably, grounding him to this moment as he fought back his orgasm. You didn’t say he could come yet. “I want to be yours, please.”

“I promise I’ll take care of you, my sweet boy,” you cooed to him, crowding closer in case anybody was coming. Your hand twisted around him as you used the other hand to trace your thumb around his mouth. He attempted to capture your thumb with his lips, but you pulled your hand down his neck before he could. The marks on his neck were red for now, but you pressed your fingertips against them, reminding him of the bruises he’d wear tomorrow like a necklace. “Do you want to be a good boy for me, Aaron?”

“Please,” he huffed, a fine sweat starting up in his hairline. “Anything, please.”

“Come on my hand, my sweet boy,” you told him, and he did.

You worked him through his climax, keeping pace until your wrung him dry and he was whimpering as the pleasure was driven out by the pain. When you released him, you brought your dirty hand to his mouth. “Now taste yourself, Aaron. You deserve a treat.”

His eyes flickered between the offered hand and your face, but he didn’t protest. He licked away every bit of his essence without even a moue at the taste, and your eyes practically glowed as you fought back your own carnal desires. “You taste good, dirty boy?”

His answer was muffled by your fingers, “Mhm.” He nodded, just a quick bob of his head, and you knew that despite his release, he was still aching for more.

“Then maybe I should take you home,” you said as you pulled your fingers from his mouth with a wet, suction noise. “We still need to talk,” but then you softened your tone, “but we can still have a little more fun if you’re up to it, Aaron.”

“Okay,” he croaked, and you could tell that he was still nervous, but nearly as worked up as he was before.

“Don’t worry,” you soothed, taking the time to tuck away his cock back in his slacks and tighten up his tie again until he was nearly as immaculate as he was before. “We just need to set up some ground rules and boundaries for each other. I meant what I said when I said I wanted to take care of you. More than just sex.”

Hotch swallowed, the bob of his Adam’s apple reminded him of those marks you left on his neck. “I’d like that. I’ve…wanted that from you for a while.”

“I know.” You smiled again, that same little smile that was reserved for him, and he felt a pleased flush of warmth this time, spreading from his middle outward to his extremities. “Let’s get out of here, Aaron.”


End file.
